


Watch and Wait

by theexile (timeheist)



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dub!Con, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 02:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2092092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeheist/pseuds/theexile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Master has been watching Miss Jones, and he likes what he sees. He also sees what the Doctor has neglected to...</p><p>Massively NSFW.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watch and Wait

The Master had been watching Martha Jones for months. He could have taken her in – arrested her – whenever he wanted to in those few months with minimal effort, but as with the Doctor, he enjoyed the chase. He lived for the chase. And Martha Jones made the chase oh. So. Fantastic. He liked watching her squirm. He liked watching her run, the way her body moved when she thought she was being watched. He especially liked the idea of the security cameras set up in the so-called safehouse in France that boasted no one would be able to find her there. Oh yes. Cameras in the shower, now those had been genius. And why not? He was the Master, after all, and who was she? Nothing but a human. A stupid ape, made even worse by travelling with the Doctor goodness knew how long. The Master was sure a road trip like that lost you a couple of brain cells along the way. But the thing was that she travelled with the Doctor made the voyeurism and his lust for her even more pronounced. What could be better, other than fucking the Doctor himself, than breaking one of his beloved, loyal companions so much that they were screaming for a different Time Lord? He would take his Martha Jones, there was no doubt about that; breaking her spirit was a more precise art.

When the Master finally pulled her in, he took his time with it. He sent the Toclafane first, with cameras hidden inside them, to threaten her onto the Valiant. Martha protested, but the Toclafane pointed out that if she didn’t do what they wanted her to, anyone within a mile’s radius could die. Setting her jaw and clasping her hands behind her back, Martha was marched like the little Doctor’s soldier she was back to the Valiant, then forced to her knees. A little telepathic play, remove the piece of the TARDIS that hung around her neck, and the Master could do to her whatever he liked. But for now he lulled her into a false sense of security; he didn’t do much, just made her kneel, and wait. And wait. And fear. She had no way of knowing if the Doctor was alive or dead, or what her fate might be, but the Master had footage. He smirked as the Toclafane torn the front of her shirt in removing the TARDIS key, exposing her round, dark breasts, and he laughed as one blade clipped an old cut on her lip, breaking it open so that a bead of blood settled on her mouth. He’d taste that, when he tasted her lips. 

He let her sleep. Martha refused to change for bed but he had footage of the way her foot kicked out from under the surprisingly warm sheets he gave her, and of her shirt slipping up to expose her smooth dipping waist when she rolled over. And oh, he slept well at night with that memory on his hearts, in his head, in the hand that crept under his own sheets beside his wife as he inched slowly away so as not to wake Lucy Saxon. Footage that would last for a lifetime even if the sweet Miss Martha Jones did not. Footage that, on top of its original purpose, could be used to torture both the Doctor and the freak Captain Jack Harkness until Kingdom come, not to mention the rest of the Joneses, until he was ready to dispose of his personal slaves. It was all about the voyeurism of his enemy, and the power that came from it, and whatever he could do to Martha Jones when he finally ‘granted’ her an audience. And oh, was there power in fucking an enemy...! The power play, the naked fight, finally breaking Earth’s saviour before he set her back down on solid ground. It sent shivers down his spine far better than just simply watching and waiting.

In the morning, he woke her up himself. She slept like a baby, even more so when he used her own TARDIS key against her and snuck into the room. He leaned over to breathe on her neck, smirking as she mumbled in her sleep, then dragged his hand an inch above her skin to trace the lines of her breast, her hips, her arse. When he was ready for his fun he leaned over and grabbed her roughly by the front of her leather shirt, careful to brush his fingertips over her neck as he dragged her upwards into the kind of kiss that demands obedience and strikes fear. For a second Martha didn’t protest, shocked so quickly out of her sleep, but when she realised whose mouth was on hers she gagged, trying to get her hands on his chest to forcibly push him back. The Master dragged out his vicious kiss until he could feel Martha’s chest heave with the challenge of drawing air into her lungs that didn’t exist, then dropped her back to the bed, pacing the small room as she rubbed her jaw and throat and glared daggers at his hearts.

“No good morning? No worship? Is that any way to treat your Master?”

“You are not my Master.”

“Oh, I beg to differ.” The Master stalked forward, and was pleased to see how Martha recoiled back into the wall, her knees raised to keep him away from her chest or body. He rolled his eyes as she reached for the gun he had confiscated nearly twenty four hours ago, and smoothly placed his hand on the wall behind her head, his other on her shoulder. His eyebrow raised when he noticed her shiver, and how it was not entirely one of fear. “I beat you, I beat the Doctor, I beat the whole of planet Earth and now I have you right where I want you. I think it’s safe to say, Martha Jones, that you belong to me.” Martha snorted and tried to turn her head away from him, but the Master grabbed her chin, forcibly turning her whole jaw so that the woman had no choice but to look him in the eye. He stroked circles into her smooth, dark skin – marred by a year on the run, unfortunately – and let her cold hair fall onto his skin like a brand. With one whimper, Martha said it all, and the Master’s face broke into a wide grin. “You see, I never lose something that’s mine. And I’ve never lost you. Oh no, Miss Jones, I’ve been watching you. Every second of every day. And I think I know your weakness.”

“Look, you, fuck off!”

“Language.” The Master’s eyes narrowed, and then he put on the look of a benevolent lover, licking his lips briefly. “You don’t know your own weakness?” The Master tsked. “Let me explain.” Martha managed to pull her jaw away but the Master transferred both his hands to her shoulders, using his knee to pull her knees apart and slide her legs down against the cot. She growled, and tried to bite his arm, but he recoiled, slapping her none too lightly across the cheek and pressing her legs down to the wood with his knee. He held her in place, just staring, then stroked her matted hair out of her eyes and breathed down her neck as he whispered in her ear. “I think you’re gagging for a bit of alien. Any alien, you don’t care. Oh, your dear Doctor, he abused you didn’t he?”

“He didn’t-!”

“Oh, but he didn’t realise your needs. He didn’t help you out. Maybe a better word was neglect.” The Master stroked her cheek as he spoke, almost cooing. “And you, so dirty, running around the world on your own. I’ll bet you threw yourself at anyone who looked like an alien, didn’t you? You probably did all kinds of things, wishing it was your Doctor doing them to you, moaning, like the little alien slut you are.” He smirked. “You know if you ask nicely, I could help you out there. All you need to do is beg.”

“I’m not going to beg.” Martha tried to fold her arms, but the Master’s hand darted away from her cheek to grab her wrists, pinning them both above her head. He pulled off her gloves one at a time, slowly and seductively, humming a strip tease tune under his breath as he did so. He used his free hand to undo a few of his shirt buttons, toying lazily with hers. “I’m not, so you can get off me or kill me now.”

“Oh, I don’t want to kill you.” The Master looped his fingers throw the folds of Martha’s shirt, undoing the top button. He moved down, massaging her chest as he went, watching with satisfaction as she writhed not in anger but in barely suppressed pleasure. “I want that gorgeous, slut mouth of yours on my cock. I want you to show me you’re sorry for causing me trouble and how you want to be a good girl for Master.”

“Like that’ll happen.”

“I think it will. You see, I hold the cards. And I don’t need to force you.” The Master pulled her hands down to touch the rising tent of his trousers, smirking. Martha gasped in a breath. “Because you want this. You need this. You’re desperate for me to fuck you into the next galaxy, aren’t you Miss Jones?”

“Yeah, right.” But she was panting. The Master dragged her hands back up so that her arms were stretched and continued undoing her buttons so that her breast was on show to him, peeking out from behind the baby blue bra she was wearing. Martha finally groaned, long and loud, and the Master pressed a mocking kiss to her cheek.

“See? You want this – bad. You’d do anything for my cock.”

“Fuck me.”

The Master rolled his hips against Martha’s lap and sank his teeth shallowly into her neck. He purred, hand kneading against the front of her trousers, and then bit a little harder.

“Oh, you’ll have to do better than that Miss Jones.” Martha whimpered and pushed up against his hand, her wrists still pinned above her head by his other. “You’ll have to do a lot better than that...”


End file.
